Pavement scratch beneath

The sky above.

The landscape all trees—

All mine.

Footsteps on the solid

Ground.

I turn to look to see my

Companion.

No one.

A leaf—dead—No

Not dead to me

The only sound besides

The wind that drives it

Skipping. It stops.

I stop.

"Go on."

So I do—reluctantly.

The reeds speak too

Whispers of their former

Bush-like selves.

"See us? Still alive

In Winter?

Go on."

Again I do—reluctantly.

Still I want to enter

The stripped woods

Caress my wind-soul friends.

Even the high bird tells me

"No. Even I, free in

the high zephyrs of the air,

I cannot stop.

Go on."

The wind whistles at me

"Still lingering?

Stay."

But even he is my false

Friend.

Though he gives my companions

Their voices—

He is false.

"I cannot" I reply,

"I must go on."

I reach the end of the sidewalk and

Enter.

Warmth assails my cheeks.

My choice was right.